


Ninety-Ninety

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Children, F/M, Family, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-16
Updated: 2008-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Give and take.





	Ninety-Ninety

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Alternative universe, total fantasy (or is it?)

Rating Adult-- married sex

Spoilers through end of series; possible spoilers for \"Holding Hands on the Way Down\".

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul.

Feedback and criticism always welcomed.  


* * *

November 12, 2016; 6:15 AM; Kensington CA

The thoughts stole into Paul’s consciousness in a totally random, totally illogical order.

His first thought was that it was Saturday and he felt satisfied joy, knowing that the morning would be spent in unhurried family togetherness. They would linger over the breakfast table in the sunny kitchen. Caitlin would have accepted the fact that it was Paddy’s week to choose (“Papa’s French toast and sausages!”) and that next week she could ask Mama to make cranberry pancakes with blueberry syrup and bacon. There would be a big plate of scrambled eggs for the five of them (well, six, counting the portion that would be put in Jasmine’s food dish), juice, cocoa for the kids and coffee for CJ and himself. Saturday mornings were sacrosanct family time and very few activities were allowed to interfere with it.

Paul’s second thought was about the dream from which he had awoken. He had experienced many hilarious dreams in his life; he had experienced many erotic dreams in his life. This was the first time he remembered having a dream that was both and reflected on the subconscious ideas that had, in all probability inspired it.

His third thought was that he was grateful to God for another day with his wife and his family.

The fourth thought was that it was still early. When he had briefly opened his eyes, the room was dark, but not really dark.

His fifth thought was that, contrary to the dream, his penis was not four feet long, not eight inches in diameter, and not capable of blowing the leaves in the back yard into big piles into which his kids and his furkid could jump and frolic. However, his penis was quite long, quite thick, and extremely hard. There was plenty of time to kiss his wife into a wakeful state, prepare her body with more kisses, words, and touches to receive him, and take the two of them to a gentle climax before drifting again into sleep.

Except there was no light pressure of a head against his right armpit, no sense of warmth of a body lying against his right side, no fluttery sound of light breathing and no fluttery feel of said breathing against his right nipple.

There was a clickety-clicking sound and Paul turned toward it. He saw the light that caused the room to not be totally dark.

CJ was in the little alcove that served as her home office, sitting at her laptop.

Paul got out of bed and walked over to his wife. He could see that CJ had pulled up her hair, almost on top of her head, into a stretchy. She was wearing the ratty old over-sized Dartmouth sweatshirt he had worn yesterday afternoon when doing the yard work.

When he reached the alcove, Paul bent down kissed CJ, half on her ear, half on the place below it where jawbone and neck met. He smelled faint traces of her perfume, of perspiration from the previous day’s activities, and of his semen from their somewhat boisterous lovemaking last night.

CJ stretched back with her head to look into Paul’s eyes.

“Somehow, in the middle of the night, it all just came together in my head. Everything just finally made sense. I really, really **feel** this dissertation!” CJ’s eyes glowed with intensity, excitement, and inspiration.

Then CJ sensed the aroused state of the naked husband behind her.

“But I can take a break,” she smiled and started to get up from her chair.

Paul knew the look in her eyes, knew what it was like when everything you wanted to say just clicked, when that crucial moment of the creative process sprung into being. Paul also knew that any break could cause the moment to disappear for a long time, if not forever.

“No, sweetheart, you’re on a roll. This will keep.”

Paul kissed her again. Well, hopefully not keep, but go away and come back later, he thought to himself as he went into their bathroom. When he returned to the bedroom, she was typing away at a feverous pace, so he softly crept back into bed, willed himself into flaccidity, and set his internal body clock for about an hour’s nap.

8:30 AM

“Morning, Papa.” Paddy came into the kitchen. “Where’s Mama?”

“Mama’s working. Paddy, don’t!” Paul exclaimed as the boy headed back toward the bedroom wing of the house.

“But I want to see Mama, to say ‘Good Morning’ to her.”

“Paddy, Mama’s busy. She’s been having a difficult time lately and now she’s had some good ideas and she wants to write them while they are fresh in her mind.”

“Like I had a hard time last week with my paragraph?”

Testing had shown that while Paddy was reading, spelling, and doing arithmetic at grade level, his creative writing skills were at a fourth grade level and he was in an advanced (well, advanced for second grade) composition class.

“ _That’s my boy,” Danny said. He was on Ganymede, attending a writers’ symposium on homoerotic literature. The others at his table – Shakespeare, Horace, and Lady Murasaki Shikibu – smiled in appreciation of a father’s pride._

“Something like that,” Paul said.

“Then maybe I can help her write her paragraph, Papa. It’s not that hard, once you know your topic sentence. Then you just need your body sentences, at least three, and your concluding sentence.” Paddy inched toward the door.

“Paddy, Mama has to write lots of paragraphs. And they all have to relate to the same topic.”

“How many paragraphs? Fifteen? Twenty? Can’t she just do one a day?”

Paul quickly did some math in his head. Let’s see, three paragraphs to a page, maybe three hundred pages.

“Paddy, if Mama just did one paragraph a day, every day of the year, no breaks for weekends or vacations, it would take her almost three years to finish.” Paul watched as the boy’s eyes grew really wide. “Some days, she doesn’t have any time to write at all and some days, she just doesn’t have any ideas. So right now, when she has the ideas, we need to give her the time. Okay?”

“Okay,” Paddy said somewhat dejectedly.

“I tell you what, while I’m making the French toast, why don’t you make a card for Mama. Tell her how much you love her and how much you hope she has a productive time working on her paper?”

“What’s productive?”

“It means that you manage to get something done, rather than just wasting your time or maybe not having any good ideas. Caitlin, why don’t you make a card for Mama, too?”

After he served the kids, Paul fixed a tray with juice, coffee, toast, sausage, eggs, and French toast (and the cards from Paddy and Caitlin, plus a scribble from Dansha). Entering the bedroom, he set it down beside CJ, who was still keying away at a furious pace.

“Here, sweetheart, have something to eat,” Paul said as he kissed the top of CJ’s head.

CJ murmured her thanks, grabbed at his hand, and kissed the knuckles. Then she returned to her work.

11:45 AM

“Take us to the playground, Papa, pretty please?”

Paul had just settled down in front of the TV, trying to decide which of the games he wanted to watch. Should he pick up on the end of the Eastern Time zone games or the middle of the Mid-west games, and reminisce about the snowy afternoons in Hanover? Should he watch the games from the LA area, with their palm trees and bright sunny skies that somehow didn’t really say “football”?

Well, now it was a moot point. One look at the adoring little face of the “almost four” year-old who climbed into his lap. One look at the brilliant red curls that just grazed her shoulders, the shining blue eyes that pleaded with him. One look at the shy smile that was the only physical feature she had inherited from her mother.

“Go on wing!” Paul looked down to the floor beside the couch. Dansha was sitting on his feet, clapping her hands.

So Paul smiled at the little girls who thought he was the most wonderful man in the world, called for Paddy and Jasmine, got the kids into jackets and the dog into her harness, scribbled a note in case (hugely unlikely) that his wife might venture out of her little nook, and took his party down the street to the playground.

The original plan was for CJ to entertain the kids this afternoon, tiring them enough so they would nap or play quietly the rest of the afternoon while Paul indulged in front of the television and CJ did the grocery shopping. (In return for Paul having entertained the little ones yesterday afternoon while CJ and Gina did the day spa thing in the city.) However, when Paul went to carry away the breakfast things (she had eaten the sausages and toast and drunk the coffee but apparently didn’t stop to use cutlery – the French toast and eggs were untouched), CJ’s eyes were glowing almost maniacally and she was talking to herself. (“That’s it! That’s it! Oh, it just fits so beautifully!”)

5:45 PM

Paul carried in the last of the groceries, set them on the kitchen counter, set his ass in one of the kitchen chairs, and sighed in mild exhaustion.

After ninety minutes in the park, the kids were ready for lunch, so he had piled the three of them into the van and went in search of pizza. He had grabbed the grocery list on the way out. Paul knew that there was no way he could manage a full-fledged food run with three kids in tow, so he pared down the list to what they would need for the rest of the weekend and for Monday morning. Luckily, the trip was short enough that Paddy and Caitlin didn’t get restless. (Dansha, sitting in the shopping cart’s baby seat, was perfectly calm.)

After urging himself to put away the perishables and frozen things, Paul grabbed a beer and headed back to his bedroom.

CJ had fallen asleep in her chair, so he knelt down beside her and kissed her awake.

“Wow, I must have dozed. Is it time to get ready for church?” CJ asked as she looped her arms around Paul’s neck and returned his kisses.

“It’s almost six; it’s too late for Mary Mag. I’m not preaching tomorrow, remember, so we can go to 12:45 if you like. Or we can hustle and run down to St Joe’s tonight. It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

“Let’s go to St. Joe’s. Paul, I have the whole thing outlined! I just need to plump it up!” CJ’s face glowed with satisfied accomplishment.

“Wonderful! You get cleaned up and I’ll get the kids ready.” Luckily, the 7:15 Mass at St. Joseph the Worker, like the 5:45 at St. Mary Magdalen, was pretty much come as you are.

10:15 PM

Paul pulled the covers up over Paddy’s shoulders and ran his hand over the brown hair that was so much like his mother’s. As he stepped over Jasmine, who was lying at the foot of the bed, he reached down and stroked the black lab.

Next, Paul checked in on his daughters. Both were sleeping soundly, Caitlin hugging on the little teddy bear that Deborah had found for her two years ago. He kissed the two of them, and adjusted the night light.

Finally, Paul walked into his own bedroom. CJ was lying on the bed, wearing the bronze colored silk sleeping shirt he had bought for her that first Christmas.

CJ looked up from her magazine, smiled at her husband, and held out her hand.

“Thank you for letting me write today. It feels so good to have it together.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” Paul said as he reached down to kiss her. His hand clasped the back of her head and the kiss became more open, more sensual.

“As I recall, you put something on ice earlier today,” CJ said as his lips moved from her mouth to her ear. “I think we should do something about that.”

“That sounds like a very good idea,” Paul laughed. “Don’t go away; I’ll be right back.” He headed for the bathroom.

Once in the bath, Paul got into the shower. He felt grubby, and, in spite of the fact that CJ often told him that she found his “nighttime aroma” very arousing, he wanted to wash off.

The warm water felt good, after the long day, and Paul lingered longer than he had intended. Eleven minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, Paul rinsed with mouthwash and headed for his bed.

At the sound of the light snores, he stopped. His face fell for a moment, and then he laughed again to himself. At least they got Mass taken care of this evening. Tomorrow was another day, he told himself as he carefully climbed into bed beside his exhausted wife.

November 19, 2016; 7:15 AM

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

CJ set the tray on the nightstand and bent down to kiss her husband.

“Good morning. I should be the one bringing you breakfast in bed. After all, it is **your** birthday, sweetheart.”

“But I’m not the one who did wa-a-ay too much yesterday and hurt his back, nearly dropping me on the floor,” CJ said. She reached over for one of the coffee cups as Paul very carefully and somewhat painfully sat up in bed. “Someday you’ll learn,” she added as she picked up her own cup and sat down on the edge of the bed facing Paul. “And this is just coffee. But I do have everything set out and ready to go when Paddy wakes up and wants to cook for Caitlin and me.”

Paul put down his mug, took CJ’s mug from her, and pulled her into his arms.

“The day I can’t carry my wife to my bed,” he groused as he kissed her again. “I can’t be **that** old and decrepit. And I know you haven’t gained much more than five pounds since our wedding.”

CJ giggled. “I think the problem was trying to carry me all the way from the kitchen into here. And after having helped coach Paddy’s soccer team yesterday afternoon and playing horsey with Dansha last night. You are not old and decrepit.” She reached in and kissed him again. “You are a very romantic, very virile lover and I’m blessed to have you.”

“I don’t remember having such a hard time being a horse twenty years ago for the twins. Maybe Caitlin’s fear of horses is a good thing. I’ll just have to be careful when Dansha wants to be a cowgirl.

“But back to birthdays. I’d like to be romantic and debonair, but I do need to be careful with this back, especially with Caitlin’s party this afternoon. Would you please reach under the bed? There’s a bag.”

CJ did as requested and found a grocery sack, which Paul took from her. Opening it, he took out a beautifully wrapped box.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

CJ unwrapped her present and lifted the lid.

“Oh, Paul!” She stared at the jewelry. “They’re beautiful!” She reached over and kissed him.

“I wish it could be diamonds and platinum.”

Paul had contacted Hank in late August and the studio designer found someone to fashion a necklace, bracelet, and earrings from emerald and baguette cut white topaz set in sterling. “And I wish it could have been ready in time for the conference. I’m afraid that this year, both our anniversary and your birthday aren’t what I would have wanted them to be. I know that with you and Caitlin sharing the same birthday, the celebration, from now until she’s in her late teens, at least, will have to be ‘family rated’. That’s why I had turned down the request to chair the conference; it was our anniversary weekend and I wanted to make it a dual celebration on an adult level. But Ginny had to stick her nose into it.”

Back in early September, the senior executive assistant to the President of the Graduate Theological Union called Paul. The chair of the upcoming conference of the World Council of Churches had suffering a heart attack and a replacement was needed. Paul’s name had been mentioned by several highly placed officials in Geneva, London, and New York and the steering committee had contacted the President, who thought that Paul would be an excellent choice.

“Most of the heavy lifting has already been done. It’s just guiding everything to its conclusion, keeping everything on track. So, I’ll start making the travel arrangements for Canada. Will CJ be able to go with you?”

“Whoa, Ginny,” Pau exclaimed. “It would be one thing if I had been planning on going to the conference. But I’m not. It’s our anniversary and it’s two weeks before CJ’s birthday. We have plans to go to a resort near Palm Springs.”

“Well, Lake Louise is much nicer and this way, the trip will be paid for, Paul. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Be that as it may, chairing a conference is not my idea of a romantic getaway. No deal, Ginny,” Paul replied and ended the conversation.

But as she did that first Thanksgiving, Ginny Hall refused to take “no” for an answer. She called CJ and explained the situation to her. (“CJ, he’ll be on the world stage. He’d get as much exposure, gain as much prestige, as the Pope does when he travels. Please try to change his mind.”)

Truth be told, CJ would have preferred spending four days alone with her husband in the desert resort, alternating between the privacy of their suite and the pampering of the spa, but she recognized that a) chairing an international meeting at this level would be a coup for Paul and b) he would be extremely good at it. So that evening, after the kids were in bed, she took two glasses of Aisling’s cordial with her into her husband’s study, told him of her conversation with Ginny, and began to convince him that a trip to the Canadian Rockies would be just as nice as one to southern California. CJ had an answer for every “if”, “and”, or “but” that Paul raised.

He was concerned that he would have to spend too much time on conference issues and not be able to give her the attention that a man should give a woman on a mini-honeymoon.

She told him that his track record over the past three years indicated that she had no concerns about his ability to multi-task and neither should he.

Paul said he was afraid that the Canadian Rockies in November might not exude the same degree of “ambience” that they would have in the desert.

CJ told Paul that from what Ginny had told her, there would be a formal gala on the last evening sponsored by one of Canada’s prominent entrepreneurs, a woman who was very active in social religious ventures; there would also be a moonlight cruise on Lake Louise on the first evening and a trip to an outdoor hot springs pool on the second.

“Also, Ginny is going to tell the committee that you and I need to have the honeymoon suite at the hotel.”

Finally, Paul told her that he felt guilty about putting her in the role of “attending wife”, having to amuse herself during the days, either by herself or with the other “attending spouses”. He didn’t want to cast her in the role of “the little woman”.

CJ told him that she was planning to rent skates, to get mud baths, to read the trashy novels to which Carol and Margaret had addicted her, and to look for Christmas presents. And she was proud to be his wife.

Paul Reeves was a persistent man, a confident man, and a man used to being able to convince others to his point of view. But he was also an intelligent man and he knew when to concede the argument.

“Okay, sweetheart, if you’re sure.”

So plans were made.

At first, they thought they would have to take Paddy out of school for a few days. As CJ told Diana when they were on the phone, Gina and Randy were more than willing to take the kids, but with the harvest running late this year, they had to stay in Napa. The next day, Clara called. She would be spending some time in Sacramento with her son right before the conference and would be only too happy to extend her trip “up north” to stay with Paddy, Caitlin, and Dansha in Kensington.

Ten days later, Paul was walking toward the bedroom when he heard Caitlin talking with CJ.

“Mama, you so pretty. Why fancy dress?”

“Thank you, sweetie. I need to see if this dress still fits, if I can wear it when Papa and I go to Canada. It’s maybe just a little tight here,” CJ ran her hand across her upper hips. “But a pair of Spanx ™ will take care of that. Or I can do some more walking.”

Paul could see her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a dark blue evening gown; thinking back, he remembered the picture of her dancing with the King of Norway six years ago, when she and Frank Hollis won the Nobel. She was also wearing it at the White House event a few days later. At the time, he was trying to deal with his emotional attachment to an unattainable woman who was thoroughly in love with her husband, and didn’t dance with her that night. Now he would get a second chance to admire her, a chance that would let him do something about the way the fit of the dress made him feel about her.

“ _I remember that dress,” Danny told Alicia. “I thought she looked like one of the Great Lakes.”_

“ _Danny! You told a woman that she looked like a large body of water? Did you really think that was conducive to whatever plans you had that night?”_

“ _I’ll have you know that we had a very good time that night, woman! And speaking of good times - ”_

_Danny smiled his smile and grabbed at Alicia’s hand. The two of them flew over to Cassiopeia’s Chair and began to circle each other._

CJ walked out of the line of sight provided by the mirror; but Caitlin’s voice told him what was happening.

“All pretty stones!”

Caitlin loved to look at CJ’s jewelry. CJ let the little girl try on many of the pieces. Paul and CJ had decided to start buying her age-appropriate chains and bracelets but told her in very firm tones that she would have to wait “for at least eight more years” before she could get her ears pierced. (“Let’s hope to God that earlobes are **ALL** she wants to pierce when she’s a teen!”)

“Do you want to help me pick out what to wear with the dress, Caitlin?”

“Yes, Mama. No the red ones.”

“They’re called garnets. Papa gave me these when Dansha was born. Don’t you like them?”

“They pretty. Not with dress.”

It was silly, but Paul felt a little hurt that his necklace didn’t please Caitlin. However, her next statement made him feel better.

“Nice with my shirt.”

Paul recalled that Caitlin was wearing a deep gold sweatshirt.

“You’re right, sweetie. They need something to make them pop.”

Paul started to enter the bedroom.

“Light green ones. Not em-ralds. More pretty,” Caitlin pronounced.

“ _Prettier!” Danny exclaimed, slightly frustrated that he couldn’t teach his little girl the proper words._ _“And if it were me, you wouldn’t be getting anything pierced until you were eighteen!”_

“Green sapphires; and you are definitely your father’s daughter, not just the hair and the eyes. Your father had the best eye for jewelry and I think you’ve inherited it.”

Too late, CJ realized that Paul was in the room. It was only half a second, but she saw the stab of hurt in her husband’s eyes.

“ _That’s okay, darling,” Alicia stroked Paul’s bearded jaw. “Everyone has their own talents. And you, my love, are the undisputed king of good taste when it comes to lingerie_ _that is both feminine and sexy.”_

“What’s herited?”

“It means something that is passed down from one person to another.” Paul reached down and kissed his stepdaughter (realizing that he hadn’t thought of her as “step” for a long time) and then his wife.

“Maybe your grandmother’s pearls, Caitlin.” CJ held up the creamy rope that she had received so long ago.

“The sapphires are prettier, sweetheart. Wear them,” Paul said, smiling at his wife and stroking her jaw.

His original plan, before Ginny wheedled them into the trip to Canada, had been to give her the necklace for their anniversary and then the earrings and bracelet for her birthday. Now, after the incident with Caitlin, he had decided to give her the complete set the night of the dance at Lake Louise. Even to his relatively untrained eye, the sparkling white topaz would be just as striking as the green sapphire with the rich blue of her gown. But there was a delay and the set wasn’t ready in time. Hank and his jeweler friend were apologetic. The set would be ready for CJ’s birthday, and the jeweler insisted on reducing the price by fifteen percent.

It shouldn’t have bothered him that CJ would be wearing Danny’s jewelry, Paul told himself. He didn’t want her to lock up the necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings the way the two of them had locked up their wedding rings (and the large diamond that Danny had given her for Paddy) in the bank. He wanted her to look nice; he took pride in seeing his wife as the object of admiration by others (respectful admiration, that is, especially in the case of other men.) To be honest, Paul took pride in the admiration placed on him by other men when they saw her with him. It shouldn’t bother him that someone else had given her most of her expensive gems.

But it did.

The WCC conference was a huge success. Several important position papers were presented. New milestones in ecumenical activity were reached. Everyone talked about how skillfully and seemingly effortlessly Paul handled the full sessions, making sure that everyone knew what was happening when, taking care of the inevitable snafus that always happened at such gatherings. When CJ and Paul called home to speak with the children, the little ones told them how exciting it was “to see Papa on CNN, like a movie star!” There were even two one-on-one interviews, one for an upcoming “60 Minutes” segment, and one for immediate broadcast on BBC. During the social events of the evenings, the two of them fell naturally into the roles of host and hostess for the other attendees. They were easily able to manage the activities while thoroughly enjoying themselves. The others talked about how obvious was the aura of love around the conference chair and his wife, how much their eyes sparkled in each other’s company, how palpable was their feelings for each other.

Of course, there was speculation and comment about CJ – her past prominence and her apparent “downsized” role as “just someone’s wife”. CJ stuck with her plan and made no comments to the press. Back in California, Ginny Hall contacted the media chair of the WCC and provided him with details concerning CJ’s role in establishing the new School of Philanthropic Management at Berkeley and her studies toward her Ph.D.

CJ was not surprised that Paul seemed to draw energy from the process. As active and as busy as he was during the day and early evening, he was equally as active and persistent at night in their suite. The suite had a private whirlpool tub and they made use of it for more than bathing. On the third morning, CJ told him she was going to spend several hours in bed “so I can get my strength back and so the other wives don’t see this self-satisfied grin and start teasing me”. Knowing her husband’s degree of sensitivity, she did not tell him that she also intended to soak for an hour or so to help ease the not that unpleasant soreness between her legs. Nor did she tell him that she was still experiencing periodic mini orgasms, little aftershocks or waves of pleasure, from the previous night’s lovemaking, and wanted to revel in them. No need to let his ego get swelled completely out of proportion, she giggle to herself.

The night of the ball, Paul had been called downstairs to handle a last minute problem (“The brie isn’t ripe enough; we need something else besides the shrimp and the roast beef appetizers!”) and left the suite while CJ was still doing her makeup.

Twenty minutes later (“Is there leftover turkey from this afternoon? Can you spread slices of it with bleu cheese and roll them up, fasten them with a toothpick and a cherry tomato?”), Paul returned to the rooms to escort his wife downstairs.

“I hope that’s the last crisis, sweetheart,” Paul said as he shut the door. Then he turned around and stopped.

The deep blue gown draped perfectly over her body (a hand to her hips a bit later would reveal that she was wearing the garment that Alicia’s mother would have called a light-weight girdle and would have insisted be part of any well-bred adult woman’s attire). Her hair was pinned up in curls, with strands gracing the side of her face and the nape of her neck.

But she was not wearing the green sapphires. In their place were several chains of silver around her neck, sterling doorknocker earrings, and wide silver bangles on either wrist.

Paul walked to her and kissed her forehead.

“You look stunning, CJ. But you didn’t have to.”

She knew what he meant “I know. I wanted to. Now, I’m hungry and I want to dance with the most handsome man in Alberta, if not all of Canada.” She straightened his lapel and smoothed an errant hair in his mustache.

Somehow, they once again managed to be consummate hosts and consummate honeymooners. Except for the absolutely mandatory and obligatory dances with other officials, Paul and CJ danced every dance with each other, but they made sure that everyone was well fed, that everyone was enjoying themselves.

So now, two weeks later, CJ admired the set that would have been perfect with the sapphire dress and vowed to find a dressy but less formal little thing in the same shade of blue to wear for the Christmas festivities that would be happening next month. Of course, the pieces, either separately or as an ensemble, would be perfect with just about anything.

Or, she thought with a secret smile, with absolutely nothing at all.

Paul shifted his legs to the floor and gingerly stood up.

“Sweetheart, Paddy is going to wake up any second. You need to get back into bed so you can be pleasantly awakened and surprised when he brings you your breakfast.”

November 21, 2016; 8:15 PM

“Dr. Reeves, Ethan just doesn’t get it! Even with just the two of us, it’s hard to work all day, even if it’s ‘just a receptionist job’, and then come home to all the housework. If I’m lucky, he’ll vacuum the living room or take out the trash. And then he acts as if he’s done me the world’s biggest favor! I know that med school is hard, but still - ”

The brunette sitting in one of the wing chairs in Paul’s study was almost in tears. The young couple had been married for nine months and were afraid that they wouldn’t make it to their first anniversary. So they had turned to Student Life Services and had accepted the recommendation that they seek counseling. This was their third session.

“So, Taylor, you want Ethan to help more at home.”

“Either that or agree to a Mini-Maid ™ every other week.”

Paul turned to the young man in the other chair.”

“Ethan, what do you feel about what your wife has said?”

“Well, sir, I know I should help out more. I know that I should try to aim to make our marriage a fifty-fifty proposition.”

“Ethan, Taylor, a fifty-fifty proposition is NOT what you need to aim for in a marriage. It’s at best a starting point. In order to nurture a marriage, to keep it alive and love-filled over the years, each of you has to be willing to give much more than fifty percent. Ideally, each of you should be willing to give everything to keep the other happy, to keep your marriage what you wanted when you said your vows.”

“Is that really attainable, sir?” Ethan asked. “Do you and Mrs. Reeves have a hundred-hundred marriage? The two of you seem so incredibly happy.”

“We try very hard. I don’t claim that we are perfect. We haven’t reached that point; but I do think ours is ninety-ninety.”


End file.
